Holding Charlie
by stargatecat
Summary: Jack's reason for hating penlights, a follow up to Season 2 Show and Tell.


Holding Charlie

Jack's reason for hating penlights, a follow up to Season 2 Show and Tell.

He'd held Charlie for the first time when he was a little over a month old, small, floppy, and exactly perfect. From the moment those big eyes had blinked up at him, still blue in those first few weeks, it was like all the walls he'd built crumbled and everything and anything in the world he had, he wanted to give to this little boy, his little boy. He would have done anything for him.

And then everything had gone wrong.

Deep, deep down in the far reaches of his soul, Jack O'Neill was thankful that the universe saw fit to continually remind him of that fact, of the part he'd played in the death of his son, his bright haired, brown eyed, joyful, intelligent child. He didn't deserve to forget.

The moment the boy had walked through the event horizon, Jack had known somewhere deep down that this was going to be another one of those times. When the boy had asked to be called Charlie, he couldn't help but shake his head. If he was a praying man or a man who believed in an afterlife, he might have thought all these moments were his Charlie's way of communicating with him, of playing a game, of reaching out across whatever divide there was between the living and the dead.

But, Jack was not a praying man.

…except for when he was.

When Janet had told him about this Charlie's congenital malformations in the hallway, when he'd seen this Charlie lying there in the infirmary, so small in that little bed, he had considered becoming a praying man. Then again, if there were a God that would allow something like that to go so wrong, Jack would never pray to such a sadist.

When Jack had held this Charlie, one armed and crouched on the infirmary floor, when he'd felt Charlie go limp, when he'd seen the way his pupils didn't move when the penlight flashed over them, Jack had forgotten that he wasn't a praying man. Jack had prayed all the prayers he could think of and even made some up – not this Charlie, not this Charlie, not this Charlie.

After the gun had gone off, after he and Sara had sprinted up the stairs, Jack had prayed – not his Charlie, not his Charlie, not his Charlie.

After they'd found him, Jack had stopped praying and started thinking. He'd seen head wounds like that before in the field. He'd known what to do, taken control of the situation, told Sara to bring the car around, held pressure, and watched with bated breath as Charlie breathed, bleeding in his arms in the backseat.

When they'd reached the emergency room, he'd felt Charlie go limp against his chest and he'd known, somewhere deep down, he'd known. He'd watched the medical team swarm, let them pry Charlie from his arms and lay him out in the trauma bay, swirling around him, shouting orders, pushing meds, and starting compressions. Jack had prayed then, too, and they'd stabilized him, briefly, ever so briefly, and for a moment it was quiet.

But then someone, Jack didn't know who, had shined a penlight in those big, beautiful, brown eyes and nothing had happened and Jack had known that it was all over. Charlie, his Charlie, was gone.

Jack had never forgiven that penlight.

When Jack had seen Janet shine a penlight on this Charlie, this Charlie who'd gone limp against his chest in just the same way, for a moment, just a moment, he was back there in that hospital all those years ago with his Charlie. Just for that little moment, when Janet had said there was something she could do, there had been hope. Everything and anything Jack had, he would have given for his Charlie, for this Charlie, for any Charlie the universe might give back to him.

And Jacob, bless him, had given Jack a choice. For once at the end of all things in an alien Charlie situation, Jack had been given a choice, a choice to let one Charlie, this Charlie grow up, even if it meant living with a snake in his head.

Jack had made his choice.

And for once, Jack had said a goodbye to Charlie that wasn't a clod of dirt on a casket or a transformation of bright blue, alien crystals. For once, it wasn't a goodbye. It was a see you later.

Late that evening, Jack sat alone up with the telescope on his roof. It had been hard to convince everyone to give him the night of solitude and even harder to climb up with his arm still in a sling, but nowhere else had felt like an appropriate place except for out under the stars. Ever since holding Charlie, his Charlie, that very first time so long ago when he was really just a warm, wriggling, little thing, Jack had come to realize that holding Charlie was as much about holding on as it was about letting go. Up on his telescope perch, where if he lay back against the floor, all he could see was the stars, Jack could feel like he was holding on and letting go all at once and imagine that the twinkling of the stars overhead were really just the same joyful, intelligent, up-to-no-good twinkle he'd find in his Charlie's eyes.

Jack didn't consider himself a praying man, he didn't know if believed in an afterlife, and he was pretty certain that if there were a God so sadistic that He would allow the things to happen that he'd seen happen, he would much rather blow him up that pray to him, but when he lay down in the cold of the night and looked at the stars, Jack couldn't shake the feeling that somehow, somewhere his Charlie was still out there, twinkling a wave down at him from somewhere deep beyond the stars.

And even if it wasn't a real, tangible, physical Charlie, a feeling like that definitely was something he could hold on to.


End file.
